A divine healer, a general, a young marquis! Who can rival them!

The family across the street who run a small business moved in almost ten days ago, but haven't made a single sale.

Yang Hu remained silent but secretly sent a message to Scarface on the southern mountain of the city, asking him to go and see what kind of people these guys were.

For Scarface's underworld informants, this little thing is no problem.

Life went on as usual, and the clinic's door remained open.

At midday, a wheelbarrow stopped in front of the clinic. A man carried the old woman down on his back, his steps hurried and heavy, and went inside.

"Dr. Yang, hurry, hurry and take a look at my mother!"

The old woman clung to her son's back, her whole body arched, her mouth opening and closing, her shoulders shaking, and her throat making gurgling sounds, as if a broken box was sucking in air inside.

Yang Hu came forward to greet him:

"Put her down, help her sit up, don't let her lie down!"

The man quickly and skillfully placed his mother on the examination stool.

The old woman's face turned purple and blue, her lips were black, her nose was flaring, and her forehead was covered in sweat. She tried to speak, but couldn't utter a single word. She gripped his arm tightly, her eyes filled with fear and a desperate plea for survival.

You can't inhale it, and you can't exhale it.

Yang Hu took the pulse and examined the shoulders; this was a bout of wheezing. It was an old problem, but this time it was severe. The trachea was blocked; nothing could go in or out. If the wheezing continued, the person would suffocate.

"How many years has she had this illness?"

The man's voice trembled with tears. "I've had this since I can remember. It always comes back in the fall. This year's is the worst. I was gasping for breath for two days and one night. I couldn't even lie down. If I did, I wouldn't make it."

He became more and more anxious as he spoke.

"The doctor in town, Zhang, said my mother has shortness of breath due to deficiency, and her vital energy has been depleted. He prescribed a strong tonic of ginseng and gecko, but after a day of taking it, not only did it not improve, but her shortness of breath became even worse. I still have the prescription." He took out a medicine packet from his pocket. "The doctor said that another dose would give her a chance to breathe again, and I still have the prescription... But when I saw my mother getting worse and worse, I dared not give it to her, so I had to come to you secretly."

Yang Hu took the medicine packet, broke it open, and took a look.

Ginseng, gecko, and walnut meat—a package brimming with warming and nourishing ingredients.

Her brow drooped slightly.

"You absolutely must not give her these!"

"Huh?" The man was taken aback. "Zhang the Physician has been treating patients for decades; he's a famous doctor in the city..."

"He's mistaking real shortness of breath for weak shortness of breath!"

"Your mother isn't weak, but her trachea is blocked, she can't breathe. Giving her ginseng and gecko tonics is like adding another layer of blockage to her trachea. The more you give her, the more she chokes. If she drinks this, she'll die tonight."

The man's face turned pale.

These past two days, it's been drinking this tonic that's made my mother's breathing worse each time.

A neighbor selling medicine nearby chimed in, "I think it's offended something; we need to call a shaman to send it away!"

"It wasn't a collision!" Yang Hu said in a low voice, "She choked herself with her own words!"

The whole room was stunned for a moment.

"Sir... will it still be alright?"

"Yes." Yang Hu had already reached for the medicine. "Don't let her lie down, let her sit up, leaning forward, so her breathing will go in better."

Lu Yan understood, went over and hugged the old lady's waist, half-sitting and half-lying against a stack of cushions.

Yang Hu's hands frantically searched the medicine shelf.

One herb clears the lungs and relieves asthma, while several others regulate qi and resolve phlegm—it's all done. Don't worry about how long the fire burns; just bring it to a boil over high heat.

Before the medicine had even finished taking effect, he scooped out some powder, mixed it with some boiling water, and drank it.

"Don't be afraid!" He leaned down, his voice soft and slow. "The more afraid you are, the more breathless you'll be. Calm down, listen to me, inhale, exhale."

The old lady stared wide-eyed, taken aback by his words.

Bystanders grumbled, "Panting like that, and you call that lying down?!"

"Can it suppress several herbs?!"

Yang Hu didn't care about any of that.

Once the medicine is prepared, filter it into a bowl, warm it up, and then drink it.

It passes little by little.

The bellows-like sound gradually subsided. The old woman's trembling body fell, and she exhaled a large breath... finally managing to inhale.

His dark purple face gradually turned blood red.

"It's all right now, it's all right now..." The old lady was finally able to speak, her voice weak and trembling, but she was relieved to have survived the ordeal: "My chest doesn't feel tight anymore."

The room was stunned at first, then suddenly erupted into a commotion.

The man bowed deeply and kowtowed three times to Yang Hulian. "Miracle doctor! You saved my mother's life!"

The woman who had been shouting about calling a fortune teller suddenly choked up and couldn't utter a single sound.

Yang Hu helped the man up, sat him down, and began prescribing medicine.

"This doesn't mean the disease is cured completely," he warned as he wrote. "She had it from birth. In the future, when it flares up, never let her lie down; help her sit up, don't let her lie down. Prepare the medicine in the fall, it will be effective when it flares up. She absolutely cannot eat any tonics or greasy food!"

Aji watched from the side, looking puzzled: "He's panting like that, why can't he take some tonics or lie down?"

Yang Hu seemed to understand what he was about to say. "It's not that she lacks strength, it's that she can't breathe. Lying down with her chest compressed, she can't breathe at all. The tonic blocked that pathway, making it even harder for her to breathe out. People who are panting must sit up straight and clear that pathway, instead of forcing things in."

"Breathlessness can be either weak or excessive." He paused. "Weakness means lack of strength, which is what you need to replenish. Her airways are blocked, which is the worst thing to replenish. It's the same as wheezing, but the treatment is exactly the opposite. Treating it as weak wheezing and replenishing it will be even more serious than the disease itself."

Aji listened intently and nodded emphatically.

The man was a farmer who lived in the north of the city. He was poor. Yang Hu didn't overcharge him for the consultation; he only charged the cost of the medicine.

"Keep the medicine you take when you have an attack," he said. "This disease stays with you for life; you can't live without the medication."

A few days later, the man came again, carrying half of the millet he had just harvested for Yang Hu, blushing as he said it wasn't worth much, just a token of his appreciation.

Yang Hu accepted it.

The news spread very quickly.

In the teahouse, some gossiped: "That old woman from the north of the city had been wheezing her whole life. Even Doctor Zhang said she was on her last legs and had to prepare for her death, but Doctor Yang brought her back to life with a few doses of medicine." Someone else said, "Isn't that right? I heard that Doctor Zhang used ginseng and gecko tonics to overload her, but the more he tonics she used, the worse she wheezed. Doctor Yang saw right through her; it was real wheezing, and tonics are the worst thing you can do." Another old fellow smacked his lips: "It's the same wheezing, why differentiate between real and false wheezing? No wonder the old doctors can't figure it out. That guy from the east of the city is a god."

That quack doctor got another fart from him.

When we returned to the back room, it was getting dark.

Lu Yan tidied up the medicine cabinet he had messed up during the day, and said softly, "Young Master still doesn't have any change today."

"Country bumpkin, no talent," Yang Hu said as he sat down at the table.

Lu Rou was working on her abacus, calculating the market price of half the millet as well. She was always so meticulous in keeping accounts, not missing a single penny.

Qin Ying sat silently by the window, holding a whetstone, but didn't move a knife for a long time.

Just then, Liu Ye returned from the south of the city, her footsteps light.

"A letter has been sent to Scarface," she said softly, but her eyes were large. "They've figured out what's going on next door."

Yang Hu put down his teacup.

"The people from the Zhao family in the west of the city, under the guise of selling goods, rented that house specifically to keep an eye on our courtyard. In the past few days, they've figured out exactly when everyone in our courtyard comes out," she said.

The atmosphere inside the hall cooled down a bit.

Yang Hu did not show it.

Having been humiliated in the street, Zhao Yanei dared not come out in broad daylight and had to act secretly. He would first observe and investigate, figuring out the strength of the courtyard before finding a pretext to strike.

"They're from the Zhao family," he said calmly. "Then let them keep an eye on them."

On the surface, this courtyard is just a place where a traditional Chinese medicine doctor treats patients, and a few ordinary women work there. No matter how long you watch, you won't know much.

He knew in his heart that surveillance was only the first step.

This Zhao Yanei, who suffered a setback, will definitely not let them off the hook; this matter will inevitably come to light sooner or later. At that point, he will be more than just two healing hands.

That evening, Yang Hu opened the account book, but didn't write anything down.

It can cure a breath that can't be held in, and can unblock a blocked channel of qi and blood.

But he knew in his heart that tailing was only the beginning.

Zhao Yanei, who had just suffered a setback, would not give up so easily. One day they would face each other, and at that time, he would not be able to rely on just two hands that could heal the sick.

At night, Yang Hu opened the account book, but did not write anything for a long time.

It can cure a breath that's stuck in your throat, clear a blocked airway, and even cure other people's illnesses.

But he couldn't cure the look in other people's eyes, or the Zhao Yanei who was lurking in the shadows and could pounce at any moment.